Allein mit Sich
by trapt-tage
Summary: Oneshot. The Revolution from the point of view of the masterpiece. Sometimes you hear things in the darkness, sometimes you see things, but you always wonder if there really is anything there at all...


Disclaimer: I don't own DNAngel.

AN: Basically just a drabble from a random art piece. Based on something Towa said in Book 5. The title is in German to go with the Nietzsche quote.

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_Allein mit Sich_

_"He who fights with monsters might care lest he thereby becomes a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." -Friedrich Nietzsche_

Really, there isn't anything more to darkness than meets the eye. People always say that it holds deeply hidden secrets or unnamed feelings within it. But really, the only thing in darkness is exactly what can be seen. There is no façade, there is no symbolism, there is only what can be seen at first glance. Nothing. There is no such color as black, it is just a term to represent a lack of white. Just like there is no such thing as cold, it is just a term to represent the lack of heat. So in the black, cold abyss, there really is _nothing_. For it itself is really _nothing_. Everything is empty of _anything_.

Being alone in the dark is just that, being alone. There is nothing to comfort you, to help you, or to keep your sanity. There is nothing even to verify that you exist. For if you believe that there truly is _nothing_ to be found in darkness, and yet that is where you find yourself trapped…I'll tell you from experience, it really gives you something to ponder in your time alone with yourself.

I remember a time of light. I remember a time when I could twirl myself in a circle, and it would seem as though I was living in a world of kaleidoscope dreams. It was the light of each of the other artworks. Each my brother, each my sister, each my friend, my partner, or my mate. We were all connected to each other. We could all see into the world of our neighbors, for we were so numerous that there could be no void on the magical plane we existed in.

Every now and then, we could feel it. We could feel it, like the tingling of a bruised nerve, all through us, only it was much more painful than that. Just every now and then. The feeling would come when, perhaps a statue accidentally hit the floor and shattered, never to live again, or when a drawing was perhaps torn in ignorance. It was the feeling of Death. The feeling that one of our great numbers was _deleted_. It was not long lasting, and after taking a breather and perhaps saying a prayer, each artwork was back up to its happy, cheery, bright life with its peers.

Then it would come and not disappear. I remember times when our numbers decreased so rapidly that if I turned my head, I would miss the sight of more lights twinkling out in the distance. Of more lives twinkling out of existence. It was then that the pain simply would not go away. It got continually darker, and blacker, and colder in our little isolated boxes of ourselves, and it got continually harder to cope with the pain. I won't deny that it drove the sanity from some, nor will I deny that I've often questioned whether I was one of those 'some.'

That was what they called 'the Revolution.' The point of it? I don't know. I once heard it conjectured by one, quite far from me - so far in fact, that I could hardly see him shining in the Darkness - that the point of this 'Revolution' was simply to kill us all. I couldn't tell who it was that said that, but I know that those words echoed for a long while, and many times over in the hollow plane of existence that had cursed us in loneliness. And that made some eyes close in prayer, some eyes widen in shock, some eyebrows furrow in confusion, and some eyes water with tears.

But I know of one that suffers more than the rest of us. He has nearly ex-communicated himself from the rest of us (though it can't really be said that communication is easily upheld with any, anymore), though whether it was intentional or not, I don't know. He has gone insane from the pain, and has I get the feeling he's forgotten everything about the Revolution. I once heard that he will sit alone in his half destroyed, darkened bedroom at his piano, and that he never ventures any farther than his bedroom door, though he can't remember why.

Where I heard this, I don't know, I just remember that it was a passing word that must have floated in from the darkness. It's comforting to think that every now and then I can hear someone else out there, that there is someone hidden deep in the Darkness, but then again, some of the things I hear…they aren't things that boost ones morale, to say the least. But Him…I never hear Him at all.

He was the ultimate victim in the whole ordeal. Not only did they take his mind, but his world is now slowly crumbling, as well. He was the one that they tried to destroy, but carelessly let survive. He was dammed from that time on to forever feel the pain of being half sealed, but I can even bet that he has forgotten what it was like to live without pain. Like the ultimate brainwashing, he no longer realizes that he lives with a burden that others go unhindered by, and he therefore not only disregards his burden, but he doesn't realize it's there. Imagine an existence where your nerves never cease to tingle, and each breath is taken in as if you're inhaling itching, burning smoke. Imagine a hollow ache so deep that the very marrow in your bones is slowed. It's enough to drive one insane. I think it _has_ driven one insane. I wonder if he can even hear what he plays anymore.


End file.
